Comes Before A Fall
by Kurojouou
Summary: He is handsome, Sansa thought as Jon descended the stairs of her home. His eyes lightened at the sight of her, and Sansa couldn't help but smile at the man who looked so familiar and so much like Father and home.
1. Chapter 1

He is _handsome_ , Sansa thought as Jon descended the stairs of her home. His eyes lightened at the sight of her, and Sansa couldn't help but smile at the man who looked so _familiar_ and so much like Father and _home_.

"Do you know what a King needs most in his life, Sansa?" Littlefinger asked her, his soft voice running against her ear. Sansa looked over at Jon, who was silently breaking his fast, but from what she saw, he perhaps did not have the appetite today.

"Good counsellors?"

"No, My Lady. What he needs most," Petyr's voice was but a whisper now.

"Is a Queen."

Sansa frowned. It seemed ridiculous to her. There was war and death around them. She could hardly convince herself that Jon would even think of a wedding in such times.

Petyr must have read her thoughts, as impossible as it may sound, for he took her hand beneath the table.

"Look around you Sansa. This Winterfell that your ancestors built has been passing down in the name of _Starks_. And now look at your half-brother." She did, and realized what the man was getting at. "He may look like your Father, but he is not your mother's son. He is not true Stark blood." His voice softened. "Unlike you, my Lady."

"Jon has defeated the Boltons, and proved himself a Stark."

"Do you believe that by merely defeating an enemy and taking Winterfell in his name makes him a Stark? The righteous ruler? Then what of the Boltons? They did the same. Defeated your family, and took Winterfell. Did they have the right to it then?"

Sansa listened closely, yet her eyes were on Jon. He stabbed his food uninterestedly with his fork. His gaze reached so long that Sansa wondered if he was even present in Winterfell or was he across the Narrow Sea.

"What exactly are you proposing Lord Baelish?" She asked, her patience wearing thin.

Petyr leaned back in his chair. Sansa watched as Jon abandoned his food and walked out of the Hall.

"I know of ruling, My Lady. As I have said, a King needs a Queen. And for Jon Snow, his might be nearer than he thinks."

Sansa did not catch his meaning, and turned to look at him. His grey-green eyes were directed at her, and Sansa understood the meaning of his words instantly, making her almost jump in her seat in shock.

"Surely, Lord Baelish, you do not mean-"

She could not say the rest. It sounded like a sin to her ears.

"This castle and the North is yours by birthright. But I see no way in which Jon will give you his crown. He's been tempted and taken in by it." He gave her a sickening grin. "If you cannot be his superior, then you _must_ try and be his equal."

Sansa's breath caught in her chest. The proposal was horrendous, but she would not deny that in the depths of her heart, she believed herself to be equally, if not _more_ , worthy of ruling the North. She had her mother's grace and her father's blood, and she had the knowledge of Petyr to make her a Lady capable of things not many women of her age were capable of.

Marriage, however, sounded too much of a burden. And that too, with Jon. She wondered if the ghost of her dead mother were roaming these Halls, and if she would be ashamed that Sansa even brought such a thing to her mind.

"I cannot marry Jon," she told him, truthfully. "I do not believe he will have me."

It was true. Jon was her father's son, no matter what anyone said. He had the same honor her Father had, and she doubted his honor would let him even look at his half-sister in such a way. Jon was different from before, she would not deny that. He was less sad and more. . . _angry_. He was a King, as Kings of the North ought to be, hard and judging and a warrior, but he wasn't without honor, far from it.

"Is that it?" The Mockingbird pin on his chest shone. "Had you not made dear Harrold's eyes brighten with love for you? You know how these games are played. It will not be different with His Grace."

 _Yes_ , Sansa wanted to say. _But Harrold is not Jon._

It had been a tiring effort for Sansa to make friends with Jon. Keeping in mind that they had barely even looked at each other as children, there had been a fair amount of silence and one-worded replies shared between them. Jon spent an outrageous amount of his time in his solar- _her father's solar_ , she reminded herself- and she had not failed to notice that it wasn't _just_ her. Jon barely spoke with _anyone_.

"And if it _is_ different? What if he thinks I'm absurd for thinking of such things?"

"He wouldn't. He knows of the consequences of a Kingship. He knows he will have to wed someone sooner or later, even if he is against it." Lord Petyr leaned close to her ears. "There will be dragons among us soon, My Lady, and a Queen. Our ambitions will be done for, if we do not hurry. Even a man like Jon Snow would not hesitate to choose a Queen over a Lady, as lovely as you might be."

He rose to his feet, and left her with a lowly bow. Sansa felt as if all the strength had been seized from her body. Her food was bland as she tried to put in her mouth, and she pushed the cold, hard bread down her throat with a glass of water.

It was an impossible task Lord Baelish had set her to do, but she could not but feel a sense of want rush over her at the thought of being the Queen in the North. Petyr wasn't lying when he said she had the better claim. She was the older daughter, not that it mattered, for she was certain she was never to lay her eyes upon her wild younger sister again. Robb was gone, and Bran, who was possibly the second in line for succession, was as lost as Arya was.

She thought of her mother. She had raised Sansa for this. She had tended to Sansa's hair, made her look as pretty as a maid could be, sewed her the most beautiful of dresses, hoping that she would someday be a Lady of great stature or a Queen. Would it matter if she were to abide to her mother's wishes and take her seat beside Jon, the seat that was by all rights, _hers_ to take, even if the means weren't to her taste?

Sansa found her cheeks flushing. It would be hard, and she would have to try a hundred times harder than she did with young Harrold. She would have to try and bend the will of a rigid Northerner, whom Sansa had never seen even look at a woman with interest. She would have to make conversation with a man who was used to keeping to himself.

 _Love can change a man_ , she thought. She could show him what she was capable of giving him, and she only prayed that her efforts would bear sweet fruit.

She followed Jon into his solar one day. He was obviously displeased, but made no objection when she took a seat beside his own chair.

"Is it something important Sansa?" He asked. She could feel that her presence wasn't welcome, but she refused to leave, not without making at least some progress.

"You looked sad," she said, tentatively reaching out to touch his arm. Jon visibly flinched.

"I am fine, Sansa," he said, voice deepening.

"I know we aren't the best of friends, and as a child it was Arya who used to comfort you bu-"

"Do not speak her name," Jon interrupted her, his words biting. Sansa froze, but did not take back her hand.

"I know she is dear to you, I just wante-"

"Stop it!" Jon held her wrist in his hand with such brutality Sansa thought he would break it in two.

"Stop speaking her name!" His eyes burned with unseen flames. "What would someone like you know of what she meant to me? You think I don't see what you're doing, Sansa?" She flinched in fear.

"Please leave," he said, calmly. But she heard the anger hidden beneath. Jon let go of her hand, and Sansa walked away from him, forcing herself not to shed tears and hold her head high.

As she closed the door to his solar, she felt like emptying the contents of her dinner on the floor. A wretched envy grew in her breast. Her sister, even when dead, meant more to Jon than a living person did. That girl who was nothing but a nuisance and looked like an urchin. Sansa never understood why they cherished her so much, her father and Jon. She had never felt such an envy for Arya in her life.

 _A dead person. I am blaming my dead sister._

Tears welled in her eyes. It was changing her, she realized. Her plan and her plotting, they were turning her into someone she did not like.

Two fortnights later, a storm arrived in Winterfell in the guise of Arya Stark.

Her sister, who had been a mass of bones and skin, not even close to being pretty as a child, had returned to Winterfell in all her glory. Long dark hair, grey eyes and pale skin- she looked nothing less than a beauty. Even when she dropped the cloak to reveal her ragged and old breeches, none could take their eyes away from the woman in front of them. Sansa stepped forward, ready to take her sister in her arms, differences forgotten, when one look at Jon Snow stopped her in her tracks.

It was then she saw, that the brother whom she thought so capable of honor, whom she had never seen bat an eyelash at any woman, the one who she believed would be _disgusted_ at the thought of wedding her, looked at her younger sister with a maddening hunger in his eyes that left nothing to the imagination. Possibly every man standing there knew then-

That Jon Snow wanted his little sister in his bed.

 _At least now you know that he has no objection against wedding or bedding a sister._

Sansa walked through the empty hallways to Arya's chambers.

 _You are prettier, My Lady, and your sister, as brave as she may be, is ill-suited to be Queen. So, I urge you not to lose hope and keep still._

Sansa barged in without a knock.

"Arya!"

Her sister was naked as the day she was born. Sansa's eyes roamed over her. Her breasts were not as big as Sansa's, but they were not very small either. Her waist was tiny, and her damp hair flowed down her back to the middle of her spine. Her hips were full, and skin a creamy white. The only things that veiled her beauty were the scars that were marked all over her body. From dark to fading brown to light red. There was one gash that ran from the middle of her abdomen all the way to-

Before Sansa could see, Arya covered her body with a robe.

"Have some decency, sister," Sansa chastised her, and closed the door. "What if a man had walked in on you instead of me?"

Arya shrugged, and twisted her hair to squeeze out the water.

"I knew it was you."

Sansa raised an eyebrow.

"Do you have an invisible guard outside your door sister?" She japed, clicking her tongue.

Arya sighed.

"I know how you walk and I heard it," she said, tiredly.

"You recognized my _footsteps_?" Sansa almost laughed in incredulity.

"Kind of."

Arya leaned down and picked up a dagger from the floor. It was the first weapon Sansa thought to be pretty. It had stones of exquisite colours embedded on the hilt, and it shone brightly even in the dim light of the room.

"It's pretty," Sansa said. Arya looked at her in surprise, as if she wasn't expecting it, then curled her lips into a smile.

"It is, isn't it? It was a parting gift from a dear friend," her sister replied, and Sansa saw her eyes lighten.

"A lover?" She asked, a thread of hope binding itself around her heart. She prayed that her sister had left a lover behind in Braavos, and yearned for him still, and had no interest in Jon.

Arya shook her head, chuckling.

"Just a friend, Sansa," she said and sat down on her bed, patting the space beside her as an invitation to her.

"I came here to tell you something," Sansa said.

"Go on."

Sansa took a deep breath.

"There has been talk of Jon needing to take a wife, and- I have been named as one of the choices."

Sansa waited for her sister's response. _A shriek of horror, or anger, or would she be sad,_ she wondered.

" _Oh_."

That _oh_ from her lips sounded like music to Sansa's ears.

"So you have no objection?" She asked, her voice ten times more relieved than it was five seconds ago.

"Why would I?" Arya asked and frowned. "I know little of marriages, sister. And besides, if Jon wants you and you want him, I do not see the problem."

Sansa felt like a giddy child. And relieved- that she did not have her sister as her rival anymore, and from the way Arya talked, Sansa had not a doubt that her sister did not harbor any love for Jon other than brotherhood.

Sansa took her leave, her legs feeling lighter. She closed the door to Arya's room and slept soundly that night, believing with all her heart that her aim was not out of reach anymore.

She had been curious to see who this Daenerys Targaryen really was. She had been hearing rumours- of her beauty, of her dragons, and even the thought of _watching_ a Targaryen in flesh and blood made her excited.

Jon had been summoned to Dragonstone, and he would leave in less than a moon's turn. Sansa was aware that this meant she had to fasten her hold on Jon, to make sure he wouldn't be swayed by the beauty of the Dragon Queen. Everyone wanted the North, and Jon, being Jon- handsome and King and a warrior, would undoubtedly catch her eye.

There had been talk of this- of his betrothal, but Jon had refused to discuss the matter with anyone. Sansa Stark was the first name that had been uttered, and she had held her head high with pride, glancing once at Lord Baelish to see a knowing smirk on his face.

When Jon did not directly say no to marrying her, Sansa decided that it was time to make her advances. She wore her best dress that day, and wore her hair like a Northern Lady instead of a Southern one, and went to seek him.

It was tiring walking around the castle, and it seemed no one, not even Jon's squire had any notion as to where the King might be. Sansa's feet ached, and she almost thought of giving up her search when her eyes fell on the entrance of the Godswood. There, beneath the falling snow, was a lone soldier standing as if he was guarding something. Gathering her skirts in her hands, Sansa walked over to him, and he lowered his head when he saw her.

"Have you seen the King, Ser?" She asked. The Knight flushed a little. Sansa wouldn't know if it was the cold or not.

"He's in the Godswood, Lady Stark," he answered. Sansa walked to pass him, but he stopped her with a gentle hand.

"I apologize, My Lady, but the King has ordered that no one is to disturb him."

Sansa narrowed her eyes.

"Is he praying?" The Knight flushed again, and his time it was definitely not the cold.

"Is he _alone_?" Sansa asked this time, her voice going low and hard. The Knight seemed unsure as to what to say, and she already knew the answer.

"Ser, this is my home. I will have no restrictions imposed on me in this place, not even by a King."

The man looked troubled. Sansa smiled at him.

"Do not worry. I will see to it that he is not unkind to you."

The Knight nodded nervously. He was a new one, she realized. If he wasn't, he'd know that Jon was not someone to _not_ be unkind to someone in these matters.

Her feet hurried. Sansa felt her heart bursting at the exhilaration. She prayed to her Gods, _and_ her father's Gods, that she might not bear sight to the scene she so dreaded. But the Gods had never listened to Sansa Stark. Not as a girl, and now, not even as a woman.

Her eyes caught a dark mop of hair from afar, and she slowed her steps, ambling through the snow. Sansa hid behind a tree trunk, and tried to see what her siblings were up to.

Her hand flew to her mouth in horror when she saw her sister, sitting and leaning against a tree. Her legs were spread and bent, and there he was- the man she had spent the last hour of her day searching for, running around like a mad fool- with his head between her sister's thighs. Sansa felt her tears pour forth and her mind numb with the pain. A sob violently wrecked her body as she saw Arya arch her back and pulling Jon's hair, while the man lapped up at her centre hungrily. There were lovers' moans spilling from their lips, and their hands were joined on the ground. More than jealous, Sansa felt betrayed.

She felt rage envelop her as she abruptly went out of her hiding. Arya turned, her eyes instantly catching Sansa's, but when she opened her mouth, only a loud moan spilled from her lips. Jon looked at her too now, and the two stood up brushing away the snow from their robes, calming their passionate breaths.

Sansa reached them in a flash, and ignoring Jon's irritated look, raised her hand to slap her sister across her cheek.

"Sansa," Jon growled, and his hand went to his sword. Sansa defiantly refused to leave her place, even as fear made her skin tingle. Arya laid a hand on Jon's, and Sansa saw that even _her_ touch was not calming him down.

"Would you give us a minute, Jon?" Arya asked, in a voice that betrayed nothing- that her brother had just been eating her cunt and that her sister had hit her. It made Sansa even more angry.

"Lay a hand on her again, and you'll regret it, Lady Stark," Jon warned her, and quietly walked away.

When he left, she turned to her sister in rage. She was pressing her cheek which was now red and had the marks of Sansa's fingers on it.

"You told me you had _nothing_ to do with it!" Sansa pushed Arya in the shoulder until she stumbled back on her feet. Her sister said nothing.

"First it was Father, now it is him!" Arya's silence only made her more angry. "Why can't you leave me be?! Did you have to take all of his love too just like you did Father's?! You can have any man in Westeros and you take Jon! He was supposed to be _mine_ , Arya!"

Sansa caught her breath. Her cheeks were filled with tears, and she knew she didn't look half as ladylike then, with her stupid dress creased from her fisting it in her palm.

"You do not want him," Arya said finally, looking Sansa in the eyes. She opened her mouth but Arya beat her to it.

"You want to be _the_ Queen, Sansa, not _his_ Queen. I love you, I really do. You're the last of my blood, but I will not have Jon surrounded by vultures who are after his throne, not even you."

"So this is what it is then? You are with him because you think others are unworthy of him?" Sansa smiled cruelly, pretending it would give her some peace of mind to know that Arya didn't _love_ him, and was only doing it out of duty.

Arya smiled, knowingly, like she pitied Sansa. She felt the last tear slide down her cheek. She wanted to love her sister, she really did.

Sansa left her, without waiting for an answer.

Her dreams of becoming a Queen were crushed, and that too by Arya Horseface, the girl who was less pretty and untamed and almost an _animal_. Mother had prepared Sansa for this, not her. She was meant to wed some lowly Lord and spend the rest of her days in an old broken castle, that is _if_ the lowly Lord would have had her.

 _Be his equal._

No, she wasn't an equal, _or_ superior. She had been reduced. Then, she had a King to answer to, and now she will have the King's sister too.


	2. Chapter 2

The first time she saw the King in the North, Dany realized that she did not mind accepting her Lord Hand's proposal so much now as she did when she had first heard of it. Marriage had never been a choice for her, and even if now she had risen above all that had once held her down, Daenerys Targaryen was still a Queen, and if she were to remain so, she would need a King.

Jon Snow did not look like anyone she had seen in her travels. Ser Jorah had been a Northerner, but never had he released an aura of intimidation like Jon Snow did, and Dany would be lying if she refused her attraction to him. He did not look like a man a weak woman could love, and Daenerys Targaryen was anything but one.

His refusal to bend the knee had not come as a surprise. Lord Tyrion had told her of a Northman's stubbornness. But when she had asked him for the second time in front of her dragons, Dany had not expected for him to refuse and walk away as if she had not just threatened him with live dragons. She wondered if he were the bravest man in Westeros, or the most foolish one.

It had been the third and last night of his stay when Daenerys had left her cloak in her chambers, and walked over to his own, dressed in a soft and sheer satin gown which left nothing to the imagination. She wanted him, and it did not matter that he had not sworn fealty to her, as long as he would willingly bend his knee for other purposes for her. After that, it would not take her long to have him completely.

She walked into his room without knocking, and Jon Snow turned his eyes away from the book he was reading to look at her. His eyes roamed over her body, and Dany felt a thrill race through her as she locked the door behind her and flicked her hair over her shoulder with a hand.

"My King," she whispered. Jon Snow's eyes looked almost like her own, even if they were far more different. The scars on his face told Dany he was no less than a warrior and she bit her lip in anticipation.

"Your Grace." His voice was calm, but Dany knew better than to think her appearance did not affect him.

She walked over to him, and when she was close enough she straddled him and laid herself gently on top of him, swaying her hips in the process. Dany leaned her face close to his.

Jon held her shoulders and Dany closed her eyes, awaiting him to go further with his touch. But instead her pushed her away, and stood up straight. He looked at her like she was a child who had done something she shouldn't have, and Dany felt her anger rise. She had refused to be treated as a girl long ago, and not even a man or a _King_ could make her look small and shameful.

"Am I to assume that your interests lie elsewhere then?" She said with a tilt of her brow, not giving him the pleasure to know that he had hit a nerve. "Perhaps not in women?"

Jon Snow took his cloak and wrapped it around himself.

"My heart is not so fickle to be swayed by something like this, Your Grace."

"And who is this person who has your heart, Jon Snow?" She thought of a beautiful woman: with blue eyes and soft hair and rosy skin. She thinks of someone submissive and shy and ready to be held down by a man. Perhaps Jon Snow did not like women who could hold themselves against him. Dany wanted to tell him that she could be as meek as he would want her to be on his bed.

"It is not something you should concern yourself about, Your Grace," he says and walks away from her, leaving her alone in the room. _Again_ , treating her like a little child. Dany fists her fingers till her nails leave crescents on her palm. Even if seducing him had started with her wanting to have him swear himself to her and give up the North, now it was a matter of her pride. She wanted to see this woman who he claimed to love and who had so much power over him to make him refuse a _Queen_.

She decided to go to Winterfell. And see this woman for herself.

 _His sister_ , she thought. She looked at Sansa Stark: beautiful and radiant like the sun, with hair as bright as the summer sun in Essos, and realized that it must be his sister that he loves.

But she doubted it when there was nothing but a small embrace he gave her on their reunion and not even a kiss. Sansa Stark gave him a look of longing, and Dany realized that even if she wasn't the woman that had his heart, he certainly had hers. She watched as Jon waved everyone away and walked silently away from the castle.

"Your Grace," Sansa Stark greeted her. Dany wondered how Jon could have resisted the charms of a woman as beautiful as her, when she clearly wanted him perhaps even more than Dany did.

"Where did your brother go?" Dany asked, and saw a shadow pass over her blue eyes.

"To see his half-sister," Sansa replied. Dany raised her brow.

 _Another sister?_

"He is very eager to see her, isn't he?"

"Always," Sansa Stark replied.

And Dany _knew_ that this woman was the one she was looking for. The one who had his heart. She looked at the Lady beside her, and realized that if the other sister looked anything like Sansa Stark, Dany could understand why Jon Snow had embraced the Targaryen tradition so eagerly and forgot his own.

She did not see Arya Stark even once in the two days she had been in Winterfell. She had unknowingly made a friend in Sansa, and spend much of her time with her. She noted how she used to avoid taking Arya Stark's name everytime it was mentioned. Dany also noticed how Jon Snow broke his fast everyday with them, but disappeared for the entire day after that. Dany barely saw him four times during a day.

One day, Dany pulled Sansa aside away from the others.

"Are you in love with Jon Snow?" Dany asked.

Sansa widened her eyes, but then her surprise got replaced by sadness.

"I was."

"And he does not love you back?"

"He loves another, Your Grace."

"Your sister?" When Sansa does not refuse, Dany spoke again.

"I wanted to seduce your brother," she confessed. "But it seemed that I was not to his taste. Tell me, Lady Stark. Is this sister of yours very timid? I would think he does not have a liking for me because I tend to intimidate men."

Daenerys anticipated Sansa to do many things but to laugh. As her sweet laughter rang through her ears, Sansa looked at her almost with pity. Dany saw tears on the corners of her eyes.

"Oh, Your Grace. You could not have been more wrong."

The first time Dany did see her, Arya Stark looked like an urchin to Dany's eyes.

Dany remembered wearing clothes as ragged as her during her journey with her Dothraki. With dark hair that reached her waist and grey eyes and face almost mirroring her brother's, Arya Stark looked as different from Sansa Stark as the sun did from the moon. She had a sword in hand, and was fighting three men at once when Daenerys saw her. At once, Dany understood why Sansa had laughed at her words.

She _indeed_ could not have been more wrong about Arya Stark.

"I believe I haven't made your acquaintance," Dany said as she looked the woman over. For once, she had gotten out of her breeches and wore a Northern dress.

"I believe we haven't," she replied. Dany wondered why the woman seemed to be amused at her.

"I do not see you around."

"I have errands to run," she said, and turned to look at her brother who was watching them closely. Dany saw Jon give Arya Stark a stare so hot that Dany herself fidgeted.

"And may I ask what?"

"Oh, I believe everyone shall see what I've been up to soon. Of course, if you mean to stay in Winterfell long enough."

Dany nodded. She had not given up trying to make Jon Snow visit her bed, and for once she did not think it impossible. She could think of backing away if it was Sansa she was against, but Arya Stark seemed like fair competition. If it was a warrior Jon Snow wanted, what more could he ask for than a _Dragon Queen_.

Arya Stark's errand turned out to be the appearance of Brandon Stark, the son of Eddard Stark and half-brother of Jon Snow. But Bran Stark brought news with him that no one had expected: of the greatest secret buried in the North for years. Of Jon Snow's lineage.

The news of him being a Targaryen did not convince Dany, but soon enough a raven arrived from Howland Reed of Greywater Watch, and when according to it, Lyanna Stark's tomb was opened, on the right hand of her corpse was a Targaryen ring. Ser Barristan confirmed that it was her brother Rhaegar's.

Dany refused to have someone else have the right to her Throne. She refused to let anyone take it from her, and for that she had to take Jon Sno- _Targaryen_ , for a husband. She would have him as her King, for having him rule alone was not a choice and if she had to rule together with him to be on the throne then so be it.

"We are blood, Jon Targaryen. If you could bed your cousin, you could surely bed your aunt. Our blood will be pure and we could rule together with fire and blood."

Jon looked at her, and for a moment Dany wondered if he would accept her, but then he shook his head.

"My place is here, Your Grace. Have your Throne. I don't want it."

Dany licked her lips. His hair fell on his face in strands and it made him look insanely handsome. Dany wanted to run her hands over his face and touch his lips.

"But don't you see how powerful we could be?" she proposed. She ran her hand up his arm. "We could have Westeros for ourselves. And you could have me. I could make you forget your sister, Jon."

"I did not expect to see you here, Your Grace."

Dany turned around and saw Arya Stark: dressed in a nightgown and hair flowing down her shoulders. She was smiling and Dany couldn't help but back away when Arya walked passed her and Jon took her in her arms. They kissed right before her: his hands squeezing her hips and their tongues dancing together. Dany watched as Arya pressed her small body against his and they kissed making vulgar sounds, not caring that someone was watching them.

Dany looked away, abashed, and just before she left the room, Arya Stark cleared her throat.

"Your Grace," she heard her say. Her voice was soft as she spoke in High Valyrian. " _Issa ñuhon, Daenērys Targārien. Umbagon qrīdrughagon iā nyke kessa rip aōha tīkuni hen lēda ñuha ātsio._ "

Dany left the next day but Arya Stark's words did not leave her mind.

 _He is mine, Daenerys Targaryen. Stay away or I shall rip your wings off with my teeth._

She had woke the dragon, and she would pay in fire and blood. Dany _promised_.


End file.
